


Missing Grayson

by DemonicClaymore



Series: Gotham Boys - Batman Shorts [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics)
Genre: Batman And Robin - Freeform, Cute, Dick/Damian, Dynamic Duo, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Longing, Missing someone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 22:14:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonicClaymore/pseuds/DemonicClaymore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damian misses Dick but doesn't realize it at first. [Short, One-shot]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missing Grayson

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. This was just a quick one shot I had in my mind that I wanted to get out. Just some cute Alfred and Damian interaction while Damian behaves like a normal kid. Hope you like it!

“Fuck this.”

“Now, Master Wayne. You must keep it together. These sorts of things happen.”

“Can it, Pennyworth! I’m tired of this. I can’t do it!”

It wasn’t pity Alfred felt for his little master; it was empathy. 

“You are doing very well. Perhapse if you took a break, you could refuel, rest, and continue training tomorrow. I’m sure that if y-“

“No!” Damian’s fists smashed one after another into the nearest punching bag. “I’m not tired!”

“Sir, I must insist. You’ve been at this for hours and your body, as impressive as its stamina is, needs respite every now and then.”

Damian’s fist was replaced with his forehead. Sweat rolled down every inch of his skin. The bulk of salty fluid seemed to be trying to blind him. His eyes were swollen from the sting of the moisture, his skin was tinged in tones of red, and his chest was lightly heaving form the effort of breathing. 

Alfred stood aside with a tray holding a tall glass of water that had yet been claimed by the young hero. It was clear the boy’s body was exhausted and dehydrated. It didn’t take the butler seeing his master’s concaved muscles, straining veins, or pols of sweat to tell that; However, it did make it quite a bit more obvious.

“Damn it!” Damian tried to lift his arm to strike another punch. The muscles were too sore and weak to lift the limb too high. He was spent. Aggression brought the boy’s eyes together in a frustrated knit. He wasn’t a weak child by any measure of imagination, but he felt like he was failing at everything and was weak.

Alfred’s long legs aloud him to move gracefully over to his lord’s side. He bent at the waist effortlessly and held the glass out to the boy. “Water, Sir?”

Damian’s bright eyes glared over at the hydrating source in spite. He wanted it. He wanted to take the glass and chug the entire glass back. He couldn’t move though. So he glared at the glass, willing it to shatter with his mind. 

Alfred waited for a moment then gave his offer, “Would you care for me to assist you in bathing, hydrating, and preparing for the evening, Sir?”

The boy who had claimed the name “Robin” for his own looked bitterly away. His vision was blurred but there was nothing to see but the tough black leather of the training bag anyway. “I can’t quit yet. I haven’t hit it.”

“On the contrary, Sir. You’ve battled with every obstacle, dummy, and wall in the training facility this evening.” He gestured casually around the room where piles of dissuaded or trashed equipment lay used.  
“No!” Damian closed his eyes and fought back the childish instinct to cry. It wasn’t something he had ever been trained for by the assassins or either of his parents, but recently it was a plague that wouldn’t let him be. He hadn’t let anyone else see him do it yet. Not Alfred and certainly not Bruce. Somehow he had come to the conclusion that it was a physical weakness that he could just beat out of himself. He had been mistaken.

As tears began to mix with the rest of the fluid on his cheeks and chin, he bit down hard on his lip. He couldn’t stop it. 

“Why?” he growled. “Why can’t I just do it?”

Alfred remained ever stoic, but his nurturing nature was already in gear. “Do what, Mast Damian?”

Damian tried to search his mind for the answers, but couldn’t find them. Only one thought kept flooding his visual memory and he couldn’t figure out what it meant. So, he began to weep.  
Alfred reached out a hand and touched the sobbing child’s shoulder. Damian thought to fight it off, but only cried harder and turned to fall into Alfred’s form.

The Wayne family butler carried his youngest charge and took him upstairs. He washed the boy in the tub, dried and dressed him, and allowed him to cry and growl through the entire process. Finally, he got the boy into bed and brought him a turkey and jalapeno sandwich and a fresh glass of ice water with a pitcher just in case. By the time he had returned, Damian had gone silent. After his little master was finished, Alfred tucked the tired boy in and walked to the door, turned out the light, and offered one final piece of advice for the evening.

“Master Damian, it is alright to miss him. We all do.” The light went out. Damian stared wide-eyed facing away from the servant. “Though I’m certain, he misses you just as much. Perhaps, we could schedule a trip out of town tomorrow. I’m sure your father wouldn’t mind.”

With that, Alfred shut the door just as Damian rolled to ask him a question. He was going to ask “whom” as if he didn’t know. Now that he was in the room alone though, he could admit it. He knew whom Pennyworth meant and he acknowledged that the offering of a visit made his heart race.

It had been seven months since Dick Grayson had left Gotham to return to Bloodhaven. Nine months since Grayson had worn the cowl last. It seemed like forever since Damian hadn’t felt like something was wrong, and it had taken him all this time to realize what was wrong.

“I miss you.”

There were no more tears. Instead, there was a smirk. 

“You actually got to me. Good job, Grayson. Game well played.”


End file.
